


Converging Tides

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26672992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: Jaskier finds Eskel after he's gravely injured on a hunt.  As he and Geralt try to nurse him back to health, their worries for him and each other slowly begin to unravel them.  One tries to hold himself together while battling the horrors that haunt him.  One tries to be enough to hold them all together.  And one reels at the knowledge of the harm he unintentionally caused.Will they realize they are inadvertently hurting themselves and each other before it's too late?
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 188





	Converging Tides

It was Jaskier who found him. Geralt was preoccupied by the pissed-off royal griffin attempting to make his innards become outards, but that was beside the point. The point was that it was Jaskier who saw the prone form of the other witcher, lying bleeding in the tall grass. It was Jaskier who rushed over to him, and tried to rouse him with frantic pleas.

“Eskel...Eskel, wake up. You’ve got to get up,” Jaskier begged, shaking his shoulder to no avail.

Jaskier used his strength to roll Eskel onto his back, and he gasped when he saw the wounds the beast had inflicted on him. He bit the back of his hand as his stomach rolled. Jaskier could definitely see things that were not meant to be seen. Jaskier may have been a master of the liberal arts, but he had no idea what was attempting to escape Eskel’s belly. He was certain that it mustn’t be allowed to though.

It was horrifying and traumatizing, and Jaskier did not stop shaking even after Geralt slayed the beast and helped him dress Eskel’s wounds enough to get him to town. He didn’t stop shaking all the way back to the village on Scorpion as he clutched Eskel to his chest, so he wouldn’t fall. He didn’t stop shaking as a druid saw to the wounds. 

* * *

“The animals are settled, or as settled as they are going to get tonight,” Geralt said, coming back into the room they were renting above the tavern.

“He’s feverish,” Jaskier said, still sitting beside the cot where Eskel was laid out. 

“He lost plenty of blood.” 

Geralt looked over his shoulder at Eskel as he slowly removed his armor. He hadn’t bathed since he killed the royal griffin. He hadn’t even collected his reward yet because he’d been making sure that someone capable tended Eskel and that Eskel’s horse and goat were also tended. 

“I thought witchers didn’t get sick.”

“Not from the sort of things you might, but a beast with nasty talons and a razor sharp beak taking a sizable chunk out of our stomach is another matter.”

Jaskier made a wounded sound, squeezing Eskel’s bandaged shoulder before looking up at Geralt again. This should have been a happy evening. It wasn’t often they crossed paths outside of winters at the keep. Jaskier was always particularly excited to have the two of them to himself whenever chance allowed, but this certainly wasn’t what he would have hoped for.

Geralt sighed. “You should eat something. Mutations or not, he isn’t going to wake any time soon.”

“But he _will_ wake...right?” Jaskier asked, desperate hope lacing his words. His fingers played with the ends of Eskel’s hair, twisting them without even realizing he was seeking comfort there. 

“You should eat,” Geralt said instead of giving him false hope. He didn’t enjoy being the bearer of bad tidings. In fact, it was one of those moments that he truly wished the lies about emotionless witchers were true. He didn’t want to feel right now. He didn’t want to look over at the man he’d known longest in his life and imagine that this might be his final memory of him, lying prone on a cramped and filthy cot with his stomach held together by sutures and cloth. Yet, this was the lot he was cast.

Jaskier turned back to Eskel, brushing his hair out of his face and running his fingers over his scarred cheek. “What do you think happened to him?”

Geralt sighed again. That he had an answer to, not that it would be any more satisfying. “There were two griffins. Either he didn’t know, or he went in to finish the one, and the other took a chunk out of him to protect it. Likely a mated pair. Royal griffins will protect their mates with their life. I assume the other returned to the nest to nurse its wounds or die before we arrived.”

“How do you know there were two?” Somehow, Jaskier managed to remain inquisitive even when he was hardly holding himself together. The familiarity wasn’t the comfort Geralt wished it was. In fact, Geralt wished he would just accept his vague answers for once.

“It doesn’t matter. Would you like me to fetch you some dinner?” Geralt removed his filthy tunic and stalked over to the basin to wipe himself down with a wet cloth, doing more to move the filth around rather than really remove it. It was simple habit. He didn’t care whether he was filthy or not at the moment. He had to keep moving, keep bailing out water before the holes in their boat overwhelmed them.

Jaskier didn’t answer, too focused on Eskel to think about food. Geralt brought him food anyway and coaxed him to eat a few bites. He refused to lose both of them to this. 

Neither of them slept that night, and not for the reasons they should have been kept awake when treated to Eskel’s presence. Eskel’s fever spiked, and Jaskier took turns between mopping his brow and pacing the room. He sang softly when Eskel did not rest peacefully, and Geralt didn’t mention that Jaskier’s voice soothed him if not Eskel. It was not about him after all.

The night stretched on as Geralt finally had to press Jaskier into a seat beside the hearth and wrap him in a blanket to ease his shaking. He took up vigil at Eskel’s side, running his hand over Eskel’s chest above where the bandages covered him. 

“Any change?” Jaskier asked, pulling at the loose threads of his blanket.

“No change. He needs rest.”

“Should we check his wounds?”

“No.”

“Should we—”

“We should let him rest. Let his body heal without our interference.”

“Right, right. Of course...He only has his inside torn out. Nothing a little witcher healing can’t handle.”

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier looked up from where he was practically unraveling the entire blanket.

“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. He simply needs rest. Either he will heal or he will die. We will not make that determination.”

“Fuck. I don’t want to lose him.” Jaskier pulled the fraying blanket more tightly around him.

“Neither do I...come here.” Geralt motioned for Jaskier to join him and slowly Jaskier rose and crossed to him. Geralt sank down beside the bed and pulled Jaskier into his lap. This way Jaskier could rest, and they could still keep watch. 

Jaskier’s shaky fingers found Eskel’s and held on.

* * *

“I’m going to check on the animals,” Geralt said sometime the next morning. He also needed to get the griffin to the alderman before it began to really stink if he cared to get paid. He didn’t want to bring up the beast in front of Jaskier though. 

“Tell Lil’ Bleater that Eskel will be well soon,” Jaskier told him before he left.

Geralt sighed, but he nodded. He wasn’t going to lie to the goat either. Eskel wasn’t in good shape. The druid had been doubtful, though Geralt had made certain he kept those opinions from Jaskier. This wasn’t the sort of death Geralt was used to. He’d seen witchers slain. It was quick and brutal. He’d learned of others' demise on the Path. He’d never watched one die slowly as their body failed to heal itself. Even during the trials, the boys’ suffering had not been prolonged. It left a chill in Geralt’s bones, an ache that wouldn’t leave.

When he came back with a purse full of coin and a hot meal for Jaskier, he wasn’t surprised to find Jaskier exactly where he’d left him. His hair was lank and his face drawn. It was hard to imagine how exuberant the man was on most occasions when faced with the shell before him.

“Any change?” Geralt asked, though he knew there wasn’t any.

“Will you help me strip him?” Jaskier asked, looking up from Eskel’s bandages. 

“Is something wrong?” His slow heart sped up, creating a knot in his chest.

“No, he has just sweat so much, I’d like to bathe him.” Jaskier wrung his hands as though he wasn’t sure that he was allowed such a request. Geralt wasn’t even sure how to handle Jaskier when he acted this timid. Ordinarily, he’d already have Eskel half stripped, and he’d be telling him of some farfetched adventure even if he couldn’t hear him. 

Geralt nodded, knowing that this was as much for Jaskier as it was for Eskel. The man needed to keep himself busy and feel helpful—much like himself. So, Geralt gently lifted Eskel’s big body to allow Jaskier to gingerly remove his minimal clothing. Then he draped the sheet over him while Jaskier fetched the water he’d left heating at the hearth. 

“You’ll feel better after this,” Jaskier promised Eskel’s unconscious form as he used soaked strips of linen to clean away the sweat and dirt from Eskel’s pale skin. There were fading bruises all over him, indicating he’d likely fallen after being lifted by the griffin. Small scratches and scrapes were practically healed already, leaving behind flaking scabs the were wiped away with the cloth.

Geralt ignored the pain in his chest as he watched his one lover helplessly trying to tend his other. This was not how he wished to see them. This was not the eager kisses shared after months apart. This wasn’t the methodical lovemaking after several rounds of enthusiastic fucking. This was mourning even if Eskel wasn’t dead, even if he wasn’t dying. This was regret for days missed and futures forbidden by the nature of their paths.

“I know you enjoy a good soak, but this will have to do for now. Once you’re feeling more yourself, we’ll get you a tub and let you stay in as long as you like,” Jaskier continued to speak to Eskel as he carefully cleaned around the bandages on his chest and stomach. He clicked his tongue as he looked at them. “I think these need changing.”

“The druid said to leave them. The horrid smell is the herbs not him.” Geralt tried to reassure him, but Jaskier was already pulling at the edges of the bandages. 

Geralt stood and crossed the room in two strides. He grasped Jaskier’s hands gently in his own before Jaskier could unwrap the bandages. He managed to stop himself from yelling. Taking this out of Jaskier was inevitable, but he tried to fight it. Jaskier was hurting too after all.

“Neither you nor I are versed in medicine. The druid said to leave them. We’ll only do him more harm if we try to play healer.”

“But what if something is wrong beneath them? We’ll never know!”

“We have to trust—”

“I can’t just sit here, Geralt. I can’t just watch him suffer like you can!” Jaskier snapped his mouth shut, realizing what he’d said. His eyes glistened with emotions threatening to spill over. “Geralt, what if he doesn’t wake?” 

Geralt sighed, taking a seat on the stool Jaskier had abandoned for the sliver of cot beside Eskel. “Eskel came to terms with his own mortality a long time ago, Jaskier. We are trained to know that we will die in battle. Witchers do not retire. If not a royal griffin then a bruxa who’s just a little too fast or a nest of nekkers that’s just too large for one witcher. Death is never pleasant, but a witcher’s death is always violent.” Geralt reached out and ran his worn fingers through Eskel’s hair. He remembered when he’d been jealous of it after his own had turned white. 

Jaskier pushed himself to his feet and began to pace rapidly. “How can you be so calm about this? He’s our lover! He’s been your friend for over a lifetime. He could be _dying_!” Jaskier threw his hands up and out, demonstrating his impotent rage.

“Which is why I’ve told you it is best that we do not form attachments. This is why I never wanted someone to need me...someone to watch me die.”

“But you have me _and_ him whether you like it or not! Do you feel nothing? Is your heart not rending itself in two? Can you not hear mine doing the same with your mutant hearing?” Jaskier tugged at his under tunic, having lost the doublet ages ago. 

Geralt rose and cut off Jaskier’s next pass, catching him in strong arms. “When we were mere boys, training at Kaer Morhen...before my hair turned white or they trained the humor out of us...we were playing near the keep, fighting with wooden swords, chasing the poor wildlife, getting up to mischief. I tripped on a raised root and tumbled down a ravine. I hit my head and broke my arm, and when I woke I was still in the ravine, but Eskel was as well. He was filthy from climbing down to me, but he’d managed to light us a fire. He didn’t run to get help. They would have punished us for our foolishness. He sat with me because that’s all he could do. You’re doing what you can, Jaskier. He isn’t alone, and that’s more than most witchers can say.”

Geralt felt warm tears against his neck as Jaskier clung to him. He didn’t mention them, and he didn’t let go of him. When Jaskier had run out of tears, they went back to bathing Eskel. Geralt helped him, gently moving Eskel’s body, so Jaskier could clean all of him. 

When Jaskier laid down beside Eskel that night, Geralt didn’t stop him. He pulled a blanket over them both and extinguished the candles, hoping Jaskier would get some rest. He kept watch through the night, bathing Eskel’s forehead when the fever spiked, and stroking his hand when he settled.

“You’ve gone and worried the bard,” Geralt said, when only the sound of Jaskier’s snores filled the room. “You know how excitable he is by nature, and now he’s inconsolable.”

Geralt sat back a little, watching the shadows move across the walls as the wind blew outside. 

“Gone out of my way to keep the messy particulars of our profession from his sight despite his endless questions. He doesn’t have the sense to worry for his own skin, but he’d worry for ours. He’d worry himself sick over long winters or prolonged absences. He’d fret over small scrapes. He went and let himself love two monsters, and he’ll suffer for it. He is already.

“Remember when we were still young, and the Path had only just begun to jade us? Remember when I told you that we were lucky to not be entangled by our own hearts? I suppose I was particularly foolish then as I was speaking to one of those very entanglements. Was I the only daft one? Did you realize it then, or were you like me? A fool until…” Geralt’s eyes trailed over Jaskier’s sleeping form.

“Who are you kidding, Geralt? You’re still a fool,” Eskel’s voice was a rasp, but it was coherent.

Geralt leaned forward, cupping his face with gentle hands. “You were almost torn in half, and you call _me_ a fool?” There was relief in his words, even if he could still feel fever in Eskel’s skin. 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t also a fool.”

“At least your sense of humor is still intact.” Geralt pulled his hands away and reached for Jaskier.

“Don’t...wake him. I’m sure he needs his rest.”

“One evisceration is enough, but he will certainly gut me too if I let him sleep through this.” Geralt wanted Jaskier to rest more than anything, but it wouldn’t be fair to him when he was so worried. He’d never sleep again if he thought he’d miss even a small change.

“I heard him...singing…” Eskel’s voice was softer, slipping back into unconsciousness. Geralt could hear the pain in every word he ground out.

Geralt gave Jaskier a hard shove, and Jaskier sat bolt upright. He blinked rapidly, trying to get his bearings.

“Tell him never to worry you again before he falls unconscious,” Geralt said, reaching out and guiding Jaskier’s chin to look down at Eskel.

“Eskel?” Jaskier asked as Geralt lit the candle beside the bed using Igni.

“Jaskier.” Eskel closed his eyes tightly at the sudden light, and Jaskier blocked it out with his own face as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to Eskel’s temple. By the time he pulled back, Eskel’s face was once again slack.

Jaskier’s eyes met Geralt’s over the prone witcher, tears running freely down his face. 

“He didn’t want to wake you.”

“Will he be okay?” Jaskier asked, hope once again blossoming in his words.

“If his gut mends.”

Jaskier nodded, looking down at the discolored bandages and settling back in. “We should get the druid to change them in the morning. Make sure he’s healing.”

“If you’d like.”

“I would.”

“Get some rest.”

“You should too.”

Geralt smiled, snuffing out the candle once again and allowing himself to settle into a state of meditation.

* * *

Eskel had rarely been in so much pain as he was whenever he was close to the surface. He’d hear singing, and he’d try to reach for Jaskier’s voice, but with it came a blinding pain in his middle unlike he’d ever felt before. It was too much to even try to meditate when he did on occasion surface. He knew he’d soiled himself once when the spasms of pain had been too much for him to control. He’d heard Jaskier’s gentle murmurs, and he’d felt strong hands clean him, but he’d been unable to do anything as his body blazed.

Another time he was close to the surface, he felt something blessedly cool cleansing him. Jaskier’s soft singing accompanied the soothing touch. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt such relief in his entire life, despite the pain he was in.

Eskel wasn’t sure how long he was unconscious, but he knew it was too long. Time was a tenuous thing here, stretching and compounding like the ache in his belly. It was there, he was aware of it, but it wasn’t something he could entirely comprehend.

Sometimes he heard Geralt’s voice, and he knew he was causing him pain.

“Managed to get him to sleep finally,” Geralt’s voice would say as familiar hands touched him gently. “He’s afraid he’ll miss you if you wake again. Not a lick of sense in him when he’s worried. Not much sense in him under normal circumstances either, but less now.”

Eskel wanted to make a joke. He wanted to tease Geralt about his own lack of sense, but he just couldn’t get his body to cooperate. He couldn’t open his eyes or mouth; he couldn’t lift his hand to grasp Geralt’s.

He knew he should be dead. This wasn’t a state a witcher should be in. the beast should have killed him, or he should have succumbed to his wounds. This slow healing as his body mended itself back from the brink was an odd torture, knowing it was not the natural state of things...but they wouldn’t let him accept the natural order.

* * *

Eskel must have been particularly close to the surface today because Jaskier’s words were clearer.

“...completely out, right there on the floor. Didn’t even get his legs under him to meditate. Been running himself ragged, taking care of us all…” Eskel could practically feel Jaskier’s heavy sigh, but there was nothing he could do to comfort him. His body was still too weak to let him have control.

“Of course, he tried being stoic, and of course it twisted me up...he isn’t though, unaffected that is. You know it as well as I do. He just has trouble showing it like we might. Instead, he runs himself ragged making sure we’re all tended while he’s coming apart at the seams.

Eskel wanted to speak, to agree, to beg Jaskier to watch over Geralt with the same dedication he was showing Eskel. Instead, he laid there, condemned to listen but not interact.

“Don’t worry. I made him eat last night before he tended the horses. And I have a hot bath waiting for him to sober up. Had half a mind to just dump cold water on his head when he passed out on the floor...but he’s hurting too, even if he pretends you both are happy to die at a moment’s notice.” Jaskier’s scoff was a thing of beauty, and he felt his lips twitch.

“Eskel?” Jaskier sounded as concerned as he was excited. “Do it again. Laugh at me...well Geralt really. He won’t mind in the state he’s in.”

Another twitch against his will, and Eskel’s eyes fluttered. The room came into sharp focus too quickly, and it made Eskel dizzy. However, he immediately sought out Geralt, who was lying in a heap in front of the hearth as Jaskier had described.

“Don’t fret. Just relax,” Jaskier said, using his most soothing voice. “He’ll be fine once he sleeps it off.”

Eskel breathed out heavily through his nose, unable to do much else without causing himself pain.

“Water,” Eskel managed to say, though it sounded horrible even to his own ears.

“I know you witchers don’t get sick, but are you sure you want to drink the water in this village?”

Eskel wheezed as he chuckled, squeezing his eyes closed against the ache that was quickly building in his gut.

“Sorry, sorry. Here.” Jaskier somehow managed to tip Eskel’s head up enough to pour the water into his mouth. It wasn’t pretty, and more got onto the sheets than down his throat, but it still felt good.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jaskier said, brushing away a drop of water that clung to the beard that had begun to grow in while he was unconscious. “Gods, it’s good to see these eyes.”

“I worried you.”

Jaskier snorted. “You witchers have mastered the art of minimizing the horror of things.” He took Eskel’s hand in his and kissed his scarred knuckles. Then he held it to his chest. “I could write ballads memorializing how good it is to speak to you again...after...we weren’t sure we’d get to.”

“It was a simple contract until it wasn’t. I do not generally go out looking for death.” it probably wasn’t as reassuring as he hoped it would be, but Eskel’s mind was still full of cotton.

“You mean unlike a certain heap of intoxication?” Jaskier smiled sadly at Geralt’s form. He clearly was blaming himself for the start of his lover, and it wasn’t really fair.

Eskel smiled anyway. “He doesn’t either. He just has shit luck.”

“You give him too much credit.”

Looking back over at Geralt’s form snoring softly, Eskel shrugged his shoulders. “I think you are starting to believe your own songs.” Eskel’s eyes were growing heavy as he looked from Geralt to Jaskier then back again. “Look after him.”

“I always do.”

Eskel had a smile on his lips as his eyes drifted closed, and he sighed as he felt familiar lips press against his own. 

* * *

The next time he woke, it was to Geralt bathing him. 

“Where’s Jaskier?” he rasped, shifting slightly as Geralt unwound his bandages. 

“Downstairs earning some coin. He was going to wear a hole in the floor with his pacing, so I told him to go make himself useful,” Geralt said, remaining focused on his task.

“Useful...as you were the last time I woke?” Eskel teased him.

Geralt grunted.

“Don’t be hard on him.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself either.”

“Shut up and hope your gut is mended.” 

Eskel could sense the worry brewing in Geralt as he peeled away the last of the foul-smelling bandages.

“You sent him away so you could take a look and see if I’m going to heal.” It wasn’t a question. Eskel would’ve done the same. It didn’t make it any healthier. Eskel had his own poor habits.

“He’s been through enough. He was the one who found you...and your entrails.”

Eskel frowned. He couldn’t remember much after the second royal griffin had caught him around the middle, practically snapping his spine with the strength of its jaw. He did remember it picking him up with its talons and carrying him somewhere. He thought he may have stabbed it with a dagger, but he’d already lost a lot of blood by then.

Geralt’s hum brought him out of his muddled memories, and he looked down at his now bare belly. The flesh was angry and red, but the wound had closed. The heavy dark stitches were extensive, but they’d worked. He could only hope that meant his insides were also on the mend.

“Won’t have to put me down yet?” he asked, giving Geralt a pathetically light shove.

“Might just do it anyway for the trouble you caused,” Geralt teased back. “Sit still, and I’ll take those out.”

“Ah, he finally gets his revenge.”

Eskel could hear Geralt’s soft laugh from across the room where Geralt was going through his pack. 

“That would look more like locking you up with a frantic Jaskier while I took a week-long nap,” Geralt said, returning with a sharp knife and a small strip of linen.

“You’re good for each other. You shouldn’t fight it...never know when a royal griffin might make supper of your insides.”

“Mm.”

Eskel smiled at Geralt’s lack of response. The man was pitifully transparent when one had known him as long as Eskel had. 

“Perhaps when you are finished with me, you might go and apologize to him for being an ass.”

Geralt glared at him. “Remember who’s holding the knife,” he said, waving the knife between them before carefully cutting the first suture. 

“You’re as dangerous as a kitten. Prickly, sure, but overall harmless.”

Geralt shook his head, focusing on the task at hand rather than Eskel’s renewed ability to tease him. 

“How are you feeling?”

Eskel considered himself for a moment even as he watched Geralt efficiently remove the thread that had held him together. “Worse than I’d like to. Better than I have any right to. Feeling in my legs is...dull.”

Geralt moved the knife with lightning speed and pressed it to the inside of Eskel’s thigh, though not hard enough to break skin.

Eskel sighed. “Like I said, it’s dull. I’m aware of the blade…”

“Can you move your toes?”

They both watched Eskel’s bare feet as he attempted to move them. They both sighed when they actually wiggled.

“You’re weak. Give it time.”

“I can’t stay here forever, Geralt, and I certainly can’t ride in this condition.” Eskel didn’t want to be a burden, not to Geralt and Jaskier and not even to the innkeeper. 

“You’ll need your strength if you’re going to convince Jaskier to let you out of his sight.”

“He should—”

“But he is. He held your guts in while we rode to town. His hands shake in his sleep. You may think you’re a burden, but you aren’t the greatest burden he’s carrying. So, don’t try to get me to convince him to leave you here.” 

Geralt finished with the sutures, placing them neatly on the cloth as he removed them. Then he bathed the area with a clean strip of linen doused in the basin.

Eskel groaned at the gentle pressure, but it still felt good. Geralt’s hands were always steady, and the comfort of knowing he was cared for lulled him back to sleep.

* * *

Eskel feigned sleep as Geralt and Jaskier entered the room. He could smell the hints of arousal as then stumbled inside, but it was layered beneath quite a bit of alcohol.

There was a thump, and Eskel cracked one eye to see Geralt pin Jaskier to the closed door. A small smile played on his lips as Geralt claimed Jaskier’s lips sloppily before kissing his way down his throat.

Jaskier moaned, gripping Geralt’s shoulders. He sounded terribly needy as he leaned into Geralt's touch, and it was a familiar comfort to Eskel.

Geralt continued kissing him as he helped Jaskier out of his doublet then began working on his trousers. Eskel wished he was healed enough to properly enjoy the show, but even if he felt a much more pleasant sensation brewing in his gut, he knew it could lead nowhere.

They both ground against each other, tugging at clothes and pressing kisses to any available skin. They clung to each other like they would be cast adrift without the other.

“Want to make you feel good,” Geralt almost purred against Jaskier’s cheek as he eased his trousers down his thighs and reached out to cup Jaskier through his small clothes.

They both froze, and Eskel smelt the acrid scent of humiliation seep into the air. Geralt heaved a sigh and pressed his forehead to Jaskier's shoulder.

“I should probably check on Eskel,” Jaskier said, trying to tug up his pants. His voice sounded timid compared to the sexual confidence Eskel had come to know from him.

Geralt stepped back, turning away from Jaskier and bracing his hand on the wall beside the door.

Eskel wanted to tell them not to stop, but he knew that would only humiliate them more. Instead, he pretended to wait as Jaskier sat down beside him and brushed his hair from his forehead.

“Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?” Jaskier asked, smiling at him even though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m good.”

“I’m going to check on the animals,” Geralt grunted, leaving the room before either of them could respond.

“Fuck,” Jaskier sighed, looking down at his own lap. 

“You rejected him,” Eskel said, taking Jaskier’s fidgeting fingers in his hand.

“Not intentionally. I’ve barely slept or ate...of course, I want him. I just...who can get an erection in times like these?” Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Perhaps you should have told him that rather than running to me.”

“Like that would stop him from feeling rejected. He spent an hour kissing me and touching me two nights ago, and I fell asleep not two minutes after he put his mouth on my cock.”

Eskel snorted. He couldn’t properly imagine Jaskier ever falling asleep during sex.

“Don’t laugh. I’m not a witcher. I can’t go weeks without a proper night’s rest. And poor Geralt thinks he bores me or something.”

Eskel squeezed his hand. “Come rest with me.”

Jaskier gave him a sad smile as he removed his clothes and carefully joined him on the cot. He guided Jaskier’s hand to the undamaged portion of his chest. 

* * *

Jaskier’s barely concealed whimper woke him. It was dark in the room, and it took a moment for him to get his bearings. Lightning flashed outside, and rain pelted the windows. Even in the flashes, Geralt was nowhere to be seen. Jaskier was curling up beside Eskel on the cot, holding himself in his sleep as he shook.

Eskel gritted his teeth as he shifted. His body complained as he rolled to gather Jaskier in his arms.

Jaskier let out a whine, but he didn’t wake. He didn’t fight Eskel’s touch, and slowly his pain-filled noises quieted.

Eskel could smell the fear and agony in the air. He recalled Geralt’s words, and he knew that Jaskier dreamt of him. He knew he relived whatever horrors he’d found that day. It made the pain within Eskel flare anew. Though not a physical ache, it consumed him just the same. 

“I’m here. I’m right here,” He whispered against Jaskier’s ear, rocking him gently like a squalling babe. 

In the morning, Geralt returned. He was soaked to the bone, and he had the smell of drowners clinging to him. He looked about as lifeless as a drowner as well.

“The heavy rains caused the river to overflow. Drowners were practically swimming through the streets,” Geralt grumbled as he slogged across the room, stripping out of his sodden armor.

Jaskier opened one eye, wrinkled his nose and buried his face in Eskel’s throat. “You smell like a chamber pot after eating days old stew,” Jaskier complained. 

Geralt growled, and Eskel could tell he was biting his tongue. 

“Why don’t you go fetch him a bath?” Eskel asked softly. 

Jaskier groaned and muttered, clearly in no better a mood than Geralt was after another night of poor sleep. 

When Jaskier had shuffled across the room and out the door, Eskel turned to Geralt. He watched him sit beside the hearth, trying to set the logs properly. He was too focused on the task, and Eskel chuckled.

“That won’t work on me. I know every last avoidance technique you have. Just like I know you went out there last night, so you wouldn’t have to watch him suffer.”

Geralt growled again and cast Igni with a little too much strength, incinerating the logs almost entirely.

Eskel shook his head. “I’m the one who had his insides pecked out, but yet the two of you are the ones who are a mess.” He didn’t let himself acknowledge his own growing uncertainties. 

“Not looking for a lecture, Eskel.”

“Are you looking to lose him?”

“He’s the one who doesn’t want me,” Geralt growled.

“You truly are a fool if you let yourself believe that.”

“I know you were awake last night. Are you going to deny what you saw?”

“He’s human. He isn’t sleeping or eating. What do you expect from him? He can barely stand up, never mind get it up.”

Geralt glared at him but before he could say anything, Jaskier had returned. He was followed by several men carrying a tub.

Eskel watched Geralt let himself be bathed. He clearly didn’t want to be touched, but he also didn’t want to push Jaskier away. Jaskier didn’t look any less conflicted about the whole affair as he washed the drowner bits from Geralt’s hair and rubbed his shoulders until they were less tense.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbled as he was holding a towel for Geralt as he stepped out of the tub. 

Geralt frowned at him. “For what?”

“For disappointing you.”

“Not disappointed,” Geralt grunted.

“Then for hurting you.”

“Not hurt either.”

Jaskier huffed out a frustrated breath. “Well then, forget I said anything.”

Geralt grabbed Jaskier before he could get storm across the tiny room to get away from him. He pulled him in and held him against his bare chest. “I just...you don’t owe me an apology.”

Jaskier rested his head against Geralt’s shoulder, clearly happy to ignore the droplets of water that still covered him. 

* * *

Jaskier rubbed his temple, trying to work away the headache that had been building for days. He hadn’t been sleeping well despite Eskel’s best efforts to comfort him in his sleep. He still hadn’t been able to keep much food down either, and he wasn’t sure if the trembling was his nerves or weakness now.

Geralt would barely see him, choosing to spend his time tending to the animals whenever he could. He wasn’t made to remain in one place without something to do. Jaskier understood why he couldn’t just sit and watch Eskel sleep for hours now that he knew Eskel would heal. However, that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Eskel himself was becoming withdrawn, and Jaskier wanted to blame Geralt for it, but he knew he was equally to blame. Eskel needed to focus on healing, and yet his caretakers were a pair of men barely able to take care of themselves most days.

It was a mess, and his head ached, and he couldn’t quell the raging storm of nerves and anger brewing within him. So, he tried to write. However, his shaking fingers made his writing illegible which only fueled his frustrations.

Eskel looked up from where he was mending his ruined armor when Jaskier threw his parchment across the room. His amber eyes were sad when they met Jaskier’s, like he was somehow to blame.

“I need some air.” Jaskier threw himself out of his seat and left the room before Eskel could say anything.

Jaskier brought nothing with him as fled the tavern. He walked, and he walked. His brain whirled with his frustrations, and not even singing soothed the noise within him. He wasn’t sure how far he’d wandered before his exhausted body gave in, but he’d long left the village behind him. The fields of tall grass—so like the grass he’d found Eskel in—were as good a place to rest as any, not that he had much choice.

* * *

Geralt was tired when he made his way up to the room balancing three bowls of stew in his arms. Scorpion had refused to settle. Lil’ Bleater was refusing to eat unless he hand fed her, and Roach was handling captivity about as well as he was.

Despite all that was on his mind, he knew something was amiss as soon as he entered the room. Eskel was out of bed, standing on shaky legs as he pulled on his clothes.

“What are you doing, and where is the bard?” Geralt hadn’t seen him downstairs. He would have noticed him preparing to play. He would have found himself a quiet corner and listened to him.

“He left.” Eskel grunted as his legs gave out on him. 

Geralt dropped the bowls in order to catch him before he could fall. Just another mess.

“I’m fine, Geralt. Like a new colt, I’ll get my feet under me in a moment,” Eskel insisted. Though, he let Geralt take his weight despite his words.

“What do you mean by he left?” Geralt asked, helping Eskel sit then gathering the rest of his clothing.

“He said he needed air, left, and he hasn’t returned. It’s been hours.”

Geralt heaved a sigh. “He’s probably fucking his way through the village. He’ll have his fill and come back. Hopefully in a better mood than he left in.”

“I don’t think that was his plan.”

“It’s rarely his plan, but yet it is usually the case.” He knew he sounded bitter, but there was no helping it. He’d never been jealous of Jaskier’s escapades, but after several rejections in everything but words...it was hard to think about him finding comfort in another when Geralt was not enough.

“Geralt.”

Geralt looked up from where he was helping Eskel into his boots. “You’re worried,” he said, letting go of Eskel’s leg and taking a seat beside him.

“I hurt him...I didn’t mean to or want to, but I did. He’s not sleeping, and he’s not writing…”

Geralt sighed. He’d known as much for well over a week, but he’d hoped that feeding Jaskier and keeping him from seeing the worst of Eskel’s recovery would be enough. He’d hoped that what he had to offer would be enough, but it wasn’t.

“He wanders when he’s angry. Perhaps the only bit of self preservation he has because wandering to the next town is certainly more productive than starting fist fights with those who take offense to his singing.”

Eskel gave him a soft smile even if it was laced with pain. 

Geralt didn’t fight him about coming with him. He wouldn’t best Eskel’s stubbornness, and it would only waste time to try. They rode out together, though their pace was sedate. Eskel was lucky to be holding himself in the saddle.

They’d been traveling for over an hour when a cry pierced the air. Both witchers looked at each other.

“I thought you’d killed the other griffin,” Geralt said, looking up at the sky trying to locate the beast.

“How would I know if I was successful? I was unconscious and spilling my insides all over the field,” Eskel retorted, pointing to the south where another cry came from.

“You aren’t healed enough to fight,” Geralt said, removing his own sword from his back as he dismounted.

“You aren’t in much better shape.” Eskel looked him up and down, frowning at what he saw.

“Nothing a potion or two won’t fix. Find Jaskier and get out of here.”

“And if the griffin—”

“Find Jaskier.” Geralt looked him in the eye and patted Eskel’s thigh. He wished he could kiss him, but he knew it would cause Eskel pain to bend down to him. So, he handed over Roach’s reins and headed off in the direction of the royal griffin. 

Geralt tried not to think about what would happen to Jaskier if the griffin saw him first. He tried not to think about what could already have happened to him. Geralt would find the beast, and he would finish what Eskel started. He had to. He might not have been enough for Jaskier, but he had to be enough in this.

* * *

Eskel urged Scorpion on. He could feel the sweat beading on his brow as he pushed his body beyond what it had done in weeks. Though his belly was healed, he still ached as he held himself upright in the saddle. 

His eyes scanned the fields at the foot of the mountains. The tall grass was like a sea of gold, rolling in the winds that blew through the valley. It would have been serene if the cries of a furious griffin could not be heard.

“Where did you wander off to?” Eskel muttered as he pushed the horses on. His muscles ached, and his head swam. He wiped his hand over his brow to keep the sweat from burning his eyes. He needed to find Jaskier, then he could fall apart.

* * *

Jaskier woke in the golden glow of the setting sun. For a moment, he basked in the warmth. He felt rested for the first time in days, probably longer. 

His own name on the wind broke his reverie. It was called by a familiar but broken voice, and Jaskier sat up quickly.

“Where am I?” he asked, though the grass remained tightlipped. 

“Jaskier!” The frantic call came again.

“Eskel?” Jaskier rose to his feet, and he quickly saw Eskel riding Scorpion at a gallop. It was such an unusual sight that he froze in place and watched before his heart plummeted. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Eskel brought his horse to a halt, and Roach halted as well. 

“Why do you have Roach? What is—”

“You left. We came…” Eskel wheezed, holding his gut as he gracelessly dismounted. 

Jaskier went to him, trying to take some of his weight, but Eskel pushed him toward Roach instead.

“We came to find you, but the other griffin...”

“What other griffin?” Jaskier felt his heart in his throat. He couldn’t deal with another griffin, not after nearly losing Eskel to the last. “Where’s Geralt?”

“The griffin.”

“No!” Jaskier was going to be sick. The shaking returned to his hands, and his legs gave out beneath him.

Somehow, Eskel caught him before he could fall. He held Jaskier tightly to his chest as Jaskier shook. 

“It’s wounded, Jaskier. Geralt will be fine.”

Jaskier continued to shake. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do. He knew Geralt had killed the other griffin, but he also knew that Geralt had worn himself to the bone trying to take care of him when he’d forget to eat or bathe or do anything but watch Eskel. 

“I can’t lose him,” Jaskier mumbled over and over into Eskel’s chest.

“I can’t either,” Eskel told him, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. 

They sat in the grass, clinging to each other. It was a torture to hear the griffin in the distance, screaming its fury to the valley. 

* * *

Geralt’s muscles ached as he dodged the griffin’s sharp talons. He cast Aard to give himself a moment to breathe as his body fought him. He felt each day of neglect weighing on him as he lifted his blade and prepared for another clash.

He dodged again, bringing his blade up to slice the monster’s belly as he rolled away. The creature shrieked, leaving his ears ringing as he reset himself.

His shoulder was already bleeding from a talon that had gotten too close, but he pushed the pain away and bolted at the creature again. He cast Aard as he threw himself into the air, striking while the beast was momentarily stunned.

The griffin writhed as his blade pierced its wing, tearing it until it was useless. It used its other wing to bat him away, sending him tumbling. He lost his sword which was still lodged in the griffin’s wing.

Geralt rolled to his feet, staggering when his body protested. He watched the beast rise as well, gnashing its sharp beak. He dodged another attack, keeping it at a distance through signs. However, that wouldn’t work forever.

He made a fatal misstep as he tried to round the beast and attack it from behind. He wasn’t prepared for the beast to throw itself into him from its injured side. Before Geralt could form Aard, he was pinned to the ground.

THe Griffin glared down at him with eyes crazed by pain. It was a look he recognized though he hadn’t seen his own gaze in years. 

“May it have been enough,” Geralt muttered, not having the strength to free himself.

Before the griffin could open him up much as it had done to Eskel, a blade burst through the beast’s chest sending a spray of blood over Geralt. He blinked up to see Eskel get thrown from the writhing creature and collapse. 

As the griffin staggered, Geralt rose to his feet and saw Jaskier holding Geralt’s blade in shaking hands as he rushed to shield Eskel’s prone body. Eskel moved behind him, but it was clear that he’d used the last of his strength saving Geralt. Still even in the state he was in, he cast Quen to protect the pair of them.

Geralt cast Aard one last time and used the last of his own energy to throw himself at the griffin. He wrenched Eskel’s blade from its back and hacked at it until it finally collapsed. 

Staggering, Geralt made his way over to the pair who were laid out in the grass practically on top of each other. Geralt let himself fall beside them with a heavy sigh. He reached out with heavy limbs and pulled Jaskier to him, catching his lips in a rather disgusting kiss which left no small amount of blood smeared across their faces. Neither of them cared at all. They needed each other more than they were disgusted by griffin blood. Then he pulled Eskel to him, kissing him as well before lacing their fingers together. 

Jaskier dragged himself onto Geralt, leaning over to kiss Eskel before settling his head on Geralt’s chest and his hand over Eskel’s heart.

“I think I have had enough adventure for one day,” Jaskier sighed, trying to snuggle impossibly closer to Geralt despite being on top of him already.

“Can’t fucking wait to get out of this fucking place,” Eskel huffed.

“I’m the one who killed not one but two royal griffins.”

“With our help!” Jaskier piped up.

Geralt snorted, and Jaskier began to laugh softly. Eskel soon joined in though his laughter was strained. 

“Perhaps next time we will not all need to face possible death to pull our heads out of our asses?”

“Unlikely,” Jaskier said, though he sounded content as he pressed a kiss to Geralt’s jaw. Geralt held him more tightly, knowing that they weren't out of the woods yet, but he'd be there for Jaskier, Eskel as well. 

None of them attempted to move. None of them attempted to pull themselves away from the other two. They just laid there together, slowly gathering their strength. It wasn’t ideal, and their weaknesses deeper than physical wounds, but they had each other to lean on.


End file.
